Out of Time
by Deathbistereo95
Summary: They're out of time, and it's been coming for months. It's just, he never thought it was going to hurt so bad, and he never thought he'd be leaving someone behind. He wasn't James, he simply didn't do love, but it had found him. It had just happened ten years too late.
1. Prologue

Okay, so first HP story. I own nothing. All credit and characters go to JK Rowling. So this is a take on a Sirimione story. So, this could stand alone as a one-shot, but if there's enough feedback I could continue. So, rate and review, constructive criticism is welcome. Thank you, and enjoy.

* * *

><p>It had all started months ago, but this was the last time for both of them. No more late night excursions, no more early mornings, no more laughter, no more hugs or kisses, no more anything. Today was the day, the day they'd both been dreading. The couple was curled up in the study, once dreary and depressing, it had become a sort of sanctuary for both of them. His arms were wrapped around her, and physically his heart ached in his chest, but really there was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable.<p>

He knew she was crying, her hot tears dripping down to his shirt. He wanted nothing more than for her stop, but really, he wanted to cry too or may be laugh. If he'd been told nine months ago that he'd be dying at the age of thirty-six, he'd have laughed and then relished in the fact that his life would be over. He wouldn't be around to bother anyone anymore. He was nothing more than a hindrance at best, no matter what Remus had tried to tell him. He wasn't needed, no one needed him. Now, he wasn't so sure. If the pretty witch crying on his chest was anything to go by.

She was still young, she still had her whole life ahead of her. She'd move on, forget him in time, or at least he hoped she would. For some reason she had chosen to love him despite knowing what would happen if she did. And he had fallen in love with her, despite every fiber of his being tell him that it was wrong to do so. Perhaps it was wrong of him to have been so selfish, but he had been selfish in every other aspect of his life so it really wasn't a surprise that he'd been selfish with her. She didn't deserve the heartbreak, or may be he was giving himself too much credit. May be he didn't have her heart like he thought he did. May be he was just a fling, or she did it out of pity. Nah, that wasn't giving her enough credit.

He'd tried in the beginning, he really had. He didn't want to fall for this beautiful woman who seemed to be his only saving grace in an ever darkening world. Her world wasn't so dark though. It hadn't been light, but nowhere near as black as his. And for some reason she made him fall into a shadow, where nothing was so black he couldn't see. And he'd love her always for that, but always was going to end pretty soon. A few more hours at most and he'd have to leave for the last time.

He sighed to himself. When people think of love, it was heated sex, and unbridled passion caught up in the heat of the moment. And sure, those things were nice, but really it was about holding that person for hours simply because if you didn't you feared they'd float away from you. It was something James had had that he'd never gotten till later in life. At least, though, he could die with the small comfort that he was doing so, so she could live her life.

"I don't want you to go," she sniffled, cutting their silence short. He pulled her in closer, tightening his hold on her. His chin rested on top of her bushy hair, blowing lightly on her frizz. He loved her hair, it was always so soft and out of control, even when she was a teenager. It had never changed, and he was thankful for that. She'd changed a bit too much, but he loved her all the same for it.

"I know," was all he could say to her. He couldn't say that he didn't want to go either. If he admitted that then he wouldn't leave. He had to leave. He squashed down his anger, because more and more he was thinking that it wasn't fair. He'd finally just started living, but then it wasn't fair to anyone else either. He had to die, had to give up everything. Really, he was one man, and in the long run his life didn't matter. It didn't matter how much he wanted it to, the world didn't stop for one man. Really, he'd been lucky to have gotten the chance he'd had.

"I love you." The words were barely a whisper.

"Did you ever imagine it turning out this way?" He asked, looking down onto her inquisitive face. Obviously, no one had thought this situation possible. "I just meant, meeting a handsome man and then watching him disappear into the night?"

She hit him for that, but there was a smile on her face, and that's what he'd been looking for. "You are so full of yourself," she admonished him. "Really, I have never met someone with a more inflated ego than yourself Mr. Black."

He chuckled at that. "Oh, if only you'd known me in my youth, love. Now, that was an inflated ego, one even James Potter could not have competed with on his best day, no matter what Lily may have said." He sighed. He was going to be seeing them again real soon, but he almost didn't want to. For the first time in fifteen years he didn't want to die. He was scared, so scared. It was eating him up inside, but this was the time to be brave.

"Why do you do it?" The young woman curled up in his lap asked, changing the subject.

"Do what, love?" He looked down, not quite sure what she was getting at.

"Pretend it doesn't bother you," she told him, meeting his gaze firmly. "I see it, you know? You're not this unbreakable, unfeeling statue. I can see it's eating at you."

He sighed again. This was not a conversation he'd wanted to have on their last day together. "Because if I pretend that I'm going to come back tomorrow, then I know I'll be able to go home today. Besides, it's for you and Harry and all your friends. I can die for that, I really can. And sure, we'll be apart for a while, but it's not forever. Nothing's forever, and I am going to see you again come Hell or high water. It's just, our time's up, a lot faster than I would have liked it be, but it is. But for now, I'm going to pretend that tomorrow, when everything is said and done, that I am going to come home and then I'm going to come here and it's all going to be perfect again. I am going to hold you in my arms, we are going to fall asleep in the same bed, and I am going to make you a lovely breakfast. Then may be, just may be I won't go back. I'll just stay here with you till forever ends. Is it okay if I do that, Hermione?"

The tears were streaming down her face in droves now, and her face was marred by an expression caught between a smile and pure agony. He dragged his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear. "I hate you, I really do," she told him, before burying herself back into his body, sobs wracking her own.

"I know," he said softly. "I love you, too." His teeth gritted, and he found his face in her hair once more.

"It's not fair," she murmured into the dark blue fabric of his shirt, before finally coming up for air.

"Life rarely is," he reminded her. "It's all going to be fine. You'll see. One day this will all just be a memory, and it won't hurt so bad anymore. You'll meet someone, someone who isn't broken, and he'll make you feel so special, love. It will make this look like child's play. And that's all I want for you, 'Mione. I want you to be happy, even if I'm not going to be the one who does it."

Merlin, how had he gotten so lucky? And may be it was wrong to do this, but he couldn't help but thank his lucky stars that it had happened to him. It was almost funny, almost. Everyone back home thought he was a drunk, depressed, and sulking up in a room with a hippogriff. No one had ever thought that actually this had been the best year of his life, despite how awful that truly was. He was supposed to be sulking and depressed, waiting for Harry if he ever needed him. According to Hermione though, Harry actually hadn't needed him all that much, which is really what made it alright again. When he was with her she told him about Harry, how he'd finally grown up and didn't have to deal with a war anymore. And that made him so unbelievably happy. James and Lily would like to know that when he got there. He'd tell them everything too. He'd tell them about Harry winning, so they wouldn't have to freak out too much while they waited for it. He'd tell them about Remus and Tonks, and all the pictures he'd gotten to see of Teddy. More than anything though, he'd tell them of the girl who fell in love with a man out of time. And Merlin, would those stories be great.


	2. 1995

_A/N General Disclaimer, I own nothing._

_Sorry about taking so long to update, hopefully chapter 3 will come faster. And to make it clear if it wasn't, this is a time-travel fic, so bare with me, Sirius will make it into the future in just a bit. And thanks for following and reading. Please R&R. _

* * *

><p><em>12 Grimmauld Place 1995<em>

It was a normal day at number twelve Grimmauld Place; and by that we mean perpetually boring. Only one resident occupied the decrepit building, and not by his choice either. If it were up to him the house or rather prison would be burned down in a flurry of fiendfyre. Unfortunately it was not up to him, not in the foreseeable future anyways.

The house was dark and drab, no light allowed to enter the few windows scattered around the large building. No sounds could be heard, or at least not on the ground floor. Our resident couldn't afford noise reaching that level, unless he started feeling particularly masochistic. The only time trips were made down stairs was for food runs and the occasional hosting of an Order member. The latter not having happened since summer had ended.

But for the love of Merlin's saggy bullocks, he was so sick of being quiet! He was rather sick of being bored as well.

Twenty-four days, five hours, and twelve minutes. He couldn't help keeping track.

Sure, he'd been a bit of a bastard for wishing his godson had gotten expelled, but still! He was going insane, he knew it. Or perhaps he was already there, and now it was just the perpetual spiraling downwards until he finally took that last plunge and walked through the gates of Hell. Wait! He was already there. Had he died yet?

Sirius couldn't believe he was actually missing the Order meetings. He would take Snape for company at this point, for amusement purposes at least. He was just so alone. Alone; that word reverberated in every neuron in his skull.

Twenty-four days, five hours, and thirteen minutes.

On Day Twelve Sirius had taken to shattering all the plates and bowls in the kitchen. Every single fucking setting smashed to pieces. His mother had bellowed obscenities for twenty minutes before he'd been able to shut her up. With the wave of a wand all the evidence of his destruction had been erased. No one would ever know.

Day Seventeen had been spent drinking himself into a stupor. About ten seconds had been spent before emptying the first bottle thinking that perhaps Sirius was taking the wrong approach on how to spend his day. That was the last hesitation as most of his days now involved some sort of alcohol consumption. September 18th though, had seemed like the perfect day to get complete and utterly sodded. Sirius still couldn't decide if his hangover the next day had been worth it.

Day Twenty, a day spent in reverie. Sirius had taken to shutting himself off from the rest of the house in his old room, surrounded by pictures and letters. He must have read Lily's letter a hundred times, his callused fingers running over the parchment and faded ink.

Twenty-four days, five hours, and seventeen minutes.

It was so quiet, so silent. He'd already fed Buckbeak, but couldn't find it in him to sit with the restless hippogriff on this day. Not that he could blame the creature for its need to release its overabundance of energy.

There were eighty-six cracks on the ceiling in the study. The dark green wallpaper was peeling off the far wall. Sirius briefly entertained the idea of ripping it away from the wall for good. To hear the sound of it tearing away, feel the resistance of the horrendously colored paper as it battled with him to stay attached.

The black haired man sighed. He was actually fantasizing over wallpaper. Merlin's bloody ball sack, when had his life become reduced to this? Sirius shuttered. He knew exactly when, but still, it was best not to poke too much at festering wounds.

Twenty-four days, five hours, and twenty-eight minutes.

Sirius could feel it building – in his teeth, in his fingertips, in his shoulders – in every single nerve ending. He was about to do something particularly destructive. It was going to be a repeat of Day Twelve, only worse. Sirius knew that it was quite pathetic at his age to be throwing a tantrum, but he didn't care. He needed to break something.

For all the calm in his youth, Sirius certainly didn't have any of it now. James had always been the hyper one. Sirius had been the picture of calm, taking all things in stride and then letting the excitement build. But he believed there was such a thing as too calm. Not everything was meant to be taken slowly. Perhaps if he'd been free and able to do as he wished Sirius wouldn't feel the overwhelming need to bounce off the walls. And now he was beginning to understand why James had hated house arrest so much.

In Azkaban he had never paced. Sirius had screamed himself hoarse a few times, and cried more than he ever wanted to admit to anyone. Mostly though, he'd just laid there and waited for the monotony to end. Moments like these made Sirius wonder what was so damn different. Was it because of not being around dementors? Was it because Voldemort was back? Or was it because his sanity had finally cracked?

He was no longer a patient man, or a calm one. He'd always been rather rash, that he couldn't deny, but he'd never been this being with pent of energy that needed to be released on pain of death. Remus had said that he'd changed a lot after his pleasant stay in Azkaban. How much? Sirius honestly couldn't say anymore. In some ways he felt fifteen and in others he felt fifty. When had being tired and being restless become all he knew anymore?

The wizard rose from the place he'd been laying on the floor. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath. The intent was for it to be calming, but inhaling the musky scent of his father's study had quite the opposite effect.

Twenty-four days, five hours, and fifty-six minutes.

The office was in shambles. Chairs thrown to the side, legs barely hanging on to the wooden base. Fluff had been ripped from the small couch from a brief shifting to Padfoot that had ended with the used of teeth. Glass artifacts Sirius had never been able to identify were nothing more than broken shards. The large mahogany desk had been upturned.

Now he was ripping at books, throwing them away carelessly after he finished. That's when one tome, which had already been shelved rather precariously, decided to fall from its place on the top shelf and on to a certain raging wizard's head.

The corner of the spine made contact with the back of Sirius' skull with a loud thud and a loud curse. There was a mantra of "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" as he rubbed the sore spot through his scraggily black hair. A low whine escaped the back of his throat, sounding much more dog than man.

Sirius paused in his rubbing to take in the damage he'd wrought in his rage. He blinked a couple of times, clearing away the moisture that blurred his vision. And for the first time in twelve days Sirius was glad he was alone. Molly Weasley would surely have his head if she ever got wind of this mess, much like the previous kitchen fiasco.

Sirius hit something with his foot. He looked down to find the object that had caused him quite the bump on the head; a thick tome, the binding dark blue and the title long faded. He picked it up off the floor, aimlessly flipping through the dusty pages.

Shrieks broke through the air, piercing the upper floors of the house. His head fell. Of course his mother had heard all the commotion he'd caused. How had he not noticed her before?

The book was held limply in his hand, forgotten for the moment as Sirius headed downstairs to silence his hag of a mother.

Some minutes later the dark haired animagus stood in front of the familiar life-size portrait. It was always a ghastly sight to behold, as well as deafening. Sirius tossed the book onto a nearby table to take hold of the drapery that would hide his dear old mum.

After a bit of a struggle the curtains were once again hiding the monstrosity and Sirius was able to breathe a bit easier for the time being. Though the relaxation was cut short up remembering the catastrophe he'd made of the study. His eyes traveled upwards with a huff. Well, at least it gave him something to do.

And with that thought process the dog animagus trudged his way up two flights of stairs to reap the consequences of his temper tantrum. Hell, he could even clean up the muggle way just to add time to the activity. Sirius stuffed his wand away in his trousers, now content with a way to waste away Day Twenty-Four.

Twenty-four days, six hours, and twelve minutes. Hopefully, Day One Hundred and Ten would come soon enough, though he seriously doubted it. Sweet Merlin, Sirius hoped Remus would arrive before then. Or anyone really.


End file.
